When They Come For Me
by Sir-Mercutio-McHuffer
Summary: Severus would have liked to have said he knew the moment it all went wrong, but he didn't. He didn't know until it was much, much too late. WARNINGS IN AUTHORS NOTE.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Advanced warning, this is not a light fic. This has been something that's been tugging at the back of my sick and twisted mind for a while now. I'm not entirely sure I won't change it all again later.

This story involves rape, will involve much death, a lot of violence, and probably a lot of swearing as well. I'm not sure how it's going to turn out, as this is the only bit that my brain has plotted, but it will not be very pretty.

For those of you who have read it, this could be considered a cross over between The Dark Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop, and HP. Not quite directly, but we'll see when my story telling catches up with my brain.

I do not own anything you recognise. And now, on with the show.  
This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.

* * *

_When they come for me  
Come for me  
I'll be gone_

* * *

The dark clutched at her skin, crept down her throat and muffled the screams that wanted to bubble to the surface. Hysteria richocheted of the damp stone surrounding them. One of the girls sobbed. Another clutched at her arms, nails leaving neatly curved puncture holes.

They'd been kidnapped. From their beds in Hogwarts. Her stomach cramped in terror. Her bladder was suddenly too full. The stench of urine reached her nose. Damp trickled down her leg. She stopped caring when the door opened.

Rough hands grabbed them, all four of them, and threw them into the hallway. The girls in front of her were too stiff and landed hard on the stone. She stumbled and they fell together into a pile of arms and legs and terror. Behind them a male laughed, made a crude joke that scorched her ears and wiped her brain. They were hauled upright again, and hurled forwards, through another door.

This one led to a darkened room. There were other men there, laughing, jostling one another. One of the girls cried out. She knew it would not end well for them. She'd known that from the moment foreign hands had clamped around her arms. She knew it even more now. Her stomach rebelled. She vomited. One of the men laughed.

"I'll take her," he said, and she recognised that voice. Her spine constricted. That sickeningly smooth, aristocratic lilt of Malfoy Senior. Her stomach heaved again. There was nothing left but bile.

Her mind withdrew, drowning itself in nothing. Her body was dragged to a bench. Malfoy already had his pants undone. Her mind retreated further at the invasion, dropping, dropping at each thrust, diving deeper. Somewhere, above, below, all around, something creaked and _shattered_.

* * *

Severus would have liked to have said he knew the moment it all went wrong, but he didn't. He didn't know until it was much, much too late.

It wasn't when he had walked in to the Malfoy manor for a spot of whisky, at Lucius' invite, to see the others there. It wasn't when he realised what tonight was going to entail. It wasn't even when they dragged out the Finest and Brightest Witches of Hogwarts. It wasn't even when the 'entertainment' began, when he heard their screams and the terrifying silence from one of the girls.

Oh no, it was not. It was only as Lucius was finishing up, pulling his pants together, when he felt it. The horrible tugging under his barriers, as though he was sitting at the edge of a whirlpool, the current teasing his feet. No one else had noticed. They were all too busy with their 'revelry', or putting themselves in order for the next to have their turn.

Avery took a step forward. He never made the second step. Something terrifying was coming out of that whirlpool. Severus desperately wished he could close his eyes, close his mind, and hide from it. It would be of no use. It could see everything. He cowered against the wall and held his breath as it passed over him, deeming him insignificant in its splendour. It left him weak.

It turned to Avery and that pleasant tinkling of a whirlpool howled into a maelstrom and took him with it. He screamed as it screamed. Avery went curiously blank and … just … fell. And tickled into dust. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs to scream. He pushed himself further into the wall, turning his head. Hiding.

It whipped up the dust and the othe rmen knew something was happening. They drew their wands, pulling up their pants, leaving the broken flesh they had been partaking of. The maelstrom deepened, the presence dove and for a moment there was silence but for the whistling of cadaver dust.

He was the first to feel it, he was sure, coiling from deep below them, deep below the protections within his own mind. An unearthly howl of rage preceeded it – her, oh god it was her. In the center, in the eye of the storm, lay the silent girl, staring blankly at the ceiling. Lucius had noticed, was raising his wand. Without a thought, he threw himself into the violence, between her body and her white haired torturer.

He needn't have bothered. The howling built in his brain until his ears popped and his nose bled. He shut his eyes against the pressure building. Something shattered. Some _things_ splattered against his face, his body. But still the howling rose, blanketing his mind.

He would die here, he thought, as something hot trickled down the side of his head. It would undoubtedly be very painful. He relaxed. It would be more painful to fight it. He let his mind sweep into the current of the maelstrom, disconnect from his body and become lost in the storm. It was easier to not fight.

It was easier to die.

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	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Cold and flu with pseudoephedrine does wonderful things to my brain. I also discovered today that Open Office on my pink laptop (as my Asus is currently broken) doesn't have a dictionary installed. I don't know how that happened.

I do not own anything you recognise. And now, on with the show.

This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.

* * *

_When they come for me  
Come for me  
I'll be gone_

* * *

She wasn't screaming any more, wasn't under his shields or in his mind, behind his eyes or in his lungs. She wasn't prowling the deep below him, circling, spiraling. He could feel her _there_ but he could sense her _here_. Nearby. He couldn't see her. His eyes cracked open. He couldn't see her but she was close. He had to see her. _He had to see her_. See her image burned into his retinas, the girl who had destroyed them. Destroyed them all. Touched his brain, twisted him into this new mind, one that would never quite tick right. Tasted his sickness and … dismissed him. He had to know her, see her, _feel_ her, beg at her feet for the sweet forgiveness he had felt when he had been brushed aside.

His bare feet slapped against cold tiles. St Mungo's ward. She was nearby, he could feel her absence pressing against his skull, pulling him into her wilderness. There was no one in the coridoor as he ran down it, hospital robes tearing the air around him. She was _so close_.

The open door to his left dragged him in, gasping, clinging to the doorframe. The girl's eyes were closed. She was covered in a plain hospital blanket, propped up on the bed by pillows. Reclining, peaceful.

He stepped towards her.

Two auroras stationed inside the door took exception to this. They shouted, drew their wands, prepared to immobilise him. He twisted to face them, dropping into a crouch, searching for the wand he knew would not be there.

"Do not touch him," she said. Her voice was crusted earth and dessicated cadavers buried in their finery, crumbling headstones covered in moss. A sepulchre. He spun to face her. Her chocolate eyes burned. The auroras wavered. They were not quick enough.

Her eyes narrowed and he caught a glimse of what lay behind her thin surface. He shuddered, and it wasn't from fear.

The wands twisted over themselves, forked tongues flicking against the hands that weilded them. Ends split, flattened, opened to fangs and hissing. Two shouts of surprise, twin clatters as the wands were dropped. Her eyes narrowed further.

"Get out," she commanded, and their legs could not disobey her. The door snicked shut behind them. She turned her terrible gaze on him.

He could not stand it. He fell to his knees and wept. Her gaze did not waver, and he could not tear his eyes from them. The facade had returned to her eyes, smothering what dwelt beneath.

His tears were shortlived. His penance was not. He crawled on his knees to her bedside. Slowly, he felt her unfurl and brush against his mind. Gentle hands touched his cheek, he recoiled. She had not moved. The touch returned, her eyes carefully blank, to wipe his cheeks of moisture.

He opened his mouth. His voice cracked. "Are you all right?" His words dropped into the silence of the room. She became very still.

"The body will heal."

His hands clenched at his sides. "You. Are you ..." he couldn't voice it. He didn't know how to. She turned her face to look out the window. They'd given her a room with a view. That was kind of them. Her eyes glazed, seeing beyond the quaint English countryside.

"The mind will heal."

He let his head drop.

"You will heal."

His shoulders hunched. She leaned back into her pillows, feathers rustling as they crushed together.

"They will heal."

"Why you?" he asked, raising his eyes to her. His retinas drank her in, optic nerves sizzling. Her face remained blank as she met his gaze. He felt a tugging, the swirling from before, beneath his shields. The slow descent. The veil lifted from her eyes.

Chocolate rolled, edges fractured and twisted. "I broke."

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	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **Thank you to everyone has reviewed, and huge thanks to everyone who has commented on the writing style. It's a new one for me to be trying - I usually have a fairly succinct style, but this is a whole new level of _fun_. It's not easy, but practice makes perfect.

I re-wrote this chapter twice. What I wanted to happen didn't want to work, twice. So here's the re-re-written chapter!

I do not own anything you recognise. And now, on with the show.

This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.

* * *

_When they come for me  
Come for me  
I'll be gone_

_And all the people say_  
_Try to catch up mother fucker_

* * *

He bowed his head. He did not ask her what, nor how. He did not speak again. He took selfish comfort in her presence. Muted as it was, he could still feel her there, that deep, dark creature, roiling beneath the surface. She lay back and let him be. She accepted his silence. He supposed she had much to think on herself.

They were left alone. He heard the tip tap of feet up and down the hallway. Once they stopped at the door, but left. He let his mind drift, sifting through old memories. Scars that would not heal. He ripped them open, let her dark seep in, drown them in black. Cleanse them. Piece by piece. Peace. It trickled down his back, untying knots that had never known relief. Soothing.

He let his head drop forward until his forehead touched the bed beside her. Muscles that had never properly stretched creaked with the movement. Relief popped behind his optic nerves.

Tentative fingers brushed his hair, he froze. Held his breath. Begged for more. They wove through his hair, stroked his scalp. The only sound was his breath whistling against the bed covers. Fingers ran through the strands of hair, twirling them. He thought, and hoped, that she was taking as much comfort from this as he was. Pathetic man that he was.

They remained like that. His knees burned, cold eating into his legs. He would not move. Her fingernails traced runes into his skull, archaic patterns he didn't recognise, chaotic lines. Faintly, he realised she had begun to hum as her fingers moved. Winding notes that unfurled from her lips, caressing the air. Tingling his parietal lobe.

Footsteps paused outside the door for a moment too long. Her fingers seized in his hair, breath hitching. No sweet notes from her throat. His own body tensed. They had to leave. Get her away from here, away from the sterility of the ward. From people.

He would not leave her. Could not leave her. She had cavorted through his brain, trickled down his axons, danced with his basal ganglia. It would need to be a place they could both exist. Mend. Somewhere where there was sun. Where the waves on a beach could be a mirror to her eyes.

She must have felt something of his thoughts. He felt the brush of her mind in askance. He opened his skull to her. Oh so politely, she viewed the images, rolling them this way and that, inspecting the fine grain sands of the land and the froth of the waves. She created mountains drooping to meet the sea in jagged rocks, bush smothering the earth and dripping fronds into the water. A fresh breeze pulled him into the thought. He could taste the salt. Feel the sand beneath his knees.

Above him, her laughter tinkled. He raised his head. Her hand dropped away and he felt bereft for a moment. He forgot everything as he opened his eyes.

The change in her was immediate. Brown curls attacked the wind, tangled with the seaspray. Her eyes were vibrant – twisted and rumbling, but with joy. Her laughter threw itself into the wind.

His mind tumbled over itself. He grabbed the edges of the bed, the very solid hospital bed, and pulled himself to his feet. Sand clung to his hospital robes. He wriggled his toes, and tiny particles of shell and coral and stone wriggled with him. "What is this place," he breathed. The air rushed around his mouth, stealing the words and carrying them away, but she still heard him. Her laughter died to a gentle upwards curve of her lips.

"This is what you asked for," she replied.

"Is this an illusion?" He couldn't believe that it was. The alternative was even less plausible. The flora was not the scabby fronds oft found on the English countryside, nor the grander oak, elm or beech. He would be very hesitant to place them anywhere within Great Britain.

"No." She breathed deep of the air. Her shoulders drooped at her exhale, eyes heavy lidded. He felt her release. Her presence flowed down the sides of the bed, trickled across the sand, swept about his feet. "We are in a place far away from everything, a place called Aotearoa."

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	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I re-wrote this chapter at _least_ three times, completely. It just didn't want to flow correctly, and the introductions weren't working. I'm now content with this particular chapter. I'm also posting this chapter while on honeymoon in Aotearoa!

I do not own anything you recognise. And now, on with the show.

This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.

* * *

_I'm not a pattern to be followed  
The pill that I'm on is a tough one to follow_

* * *

He had given his faith to this unknown creature whose legs swung over the ledge of the bed, whose arms thrust spindly from an unflattering hospital gown. Whose dark eyes twisted with depths he begged to explore, depths he knew would tear him apart. Her eyes flicked away from him, staring down the beach with terrifying intensity. Her presence receded as a wave on the beach does, but there was no ensuing wave as the ocean gave. She was containing herself, tucking her darkness within her tiny form and away from his nucleus accumbens.

His insides cried. It was a battle to hold himself back. His body screamed to hold her and rock her until that blissful presence held him once more. His brain knew that she was too brittle, standing there with her toes dipped in sand, and if he were to touch her she would shatter and be lost to them all.

He could not let that happen.

In desperation, he fell back to the only role he knew. The spy crept back, its cold logic taking control of the situation and shunting the body's calls away. It would analyse those later.

The woman before him was fragile. The wind was cool, and easily penetrated the flimsy hospital gowns.

"There is a residence on Aotearoa we may take shelter?" he enquired, slowly enunciating his words so as not to startle her. Formality, protocol, this would keep her safe for now. This would show her he was safe.

Her arms unwrapped from her chest and she watched him, eyes shuttered and wary. "There is," she replied simply, turning away to walk up the beach. Her small feet left depressions in the sand and the barest hint of that roiling presence contained within her skin. He inhaled deeply, disappointed when his olfactory receptors detected only a blend of ocean and flora.

She led them up the beach. The hospital bed stood in the sand, sheets waving farewell to their backs. She stepped up stairs dug into the sand and supported with wood paneling onto a concrete path that led into ferns. They passed flax, fern, pushed aside blackened branches with small white and pink flowers, and still up they toiled. A small brown lizard saw their approach and scurried away from the sunspot it had been lazing in. The birds in the depths of the bush were vocal and exotic to his ears, drowning out the quiet 'slap slap' of bare feet on rough concrete.

The path suddenly opened to a narrow gravel road. They crossed it, walked over the grass on the other side and into more steps hidden by ferns. These took them steeply up, across another yard, to mud stairs winding through blackened trees. These led to a small, lockwood cabin. They climbed onto the large ocean-facing deck.

The view took his breath away. Not five metres in front of the decking, the clay ground dropped away into a steep bank that led into the neighbours' property – the yard they would have crossed. The house was far enough below them that it did not intrude on the view of the unrelenting ocean. He could see the waves as they crested towards land, bush obscuring them as they met the sands. The ocean itself was a vibrant blue, almost teal, with splotches of deep green. The mountains curved around the bay and dipped into the waves, a jagged and violent meeting of white froth and rock. In the middle of the bay, past the sheltering stone and clay, lay a reef jutting from the blue.

"What is this place?" he asked, turning to face the girl. She stood apart from him, her own eyes drinking in the views.

"I had an aunt. When she passed, it went to my Mother. When they passed, it came to me," she murmured, never taking her eyes from the ocean.

"I did not know your parents had passed." There was a subtle change in the air.

"It was not advertised." Her voice was quiet, but ended that line of conversation as surely as if she had drawn her wand and screamed at him. She turned away and the glass door slid open, admitting her, welcoming her into the warm tones within.

He stepped in after her and into the soft lounge. The floors were a simple ply-wood, the walls a long beamed honey coloured wood. To one side was a freestanding woodfire on raised tiling and, beyond that, an open doorway. To the other was a windowseat and a view into the undulating bush and mountain beyond. The lounge suite were simple bamboo constructions with cushions matching the ocean outside. It smelled … clean, welcoming. There was no odour of must or disuse.

The doorway he had noticed earlier was no longer empty. Large, slate grey eyes stared out of the darkness surrounded by papery grey skin, wrinkled over angular bones and pointed ears. A well tailored dress shirt, clasped at the narrow neck with a bow tie, was tucked into a fine black waistcoat. Black dress pants dropped over oddly shaped, well polished black shoes.

"I knew my lady would require the place ready for her arrival. Your things are here." The peculiar house elf's voice was as ashen as his skin, completely neutral.

"Thank you, Butler," Hermione intoned.

The elf's eyes skipped to Severus and back to Hermione. For that split second their eyes were locked, he met in them that same dark hunger, the same ferocity that had so recently been woken in himself.

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	5. Chapter 5

**AN: **I started out strong and tapered off a bit at the end, but I really wanted to get this out tonight! I got hit with the inspiration bug while cooking and listening to my terrible music. And not wanting to do stats study.

This is fresh-off-my-brain and un-beta'd.

* * *

_We are shining  
And we'll never be afraid again_

* * *

"I had not realised the Prince would be here, I will arrange for his chambers immediately." The elf disappeared before Severus could tell him to keep his damn pasty mitts off his belongings. Instead, he growled. It didn't make him feel any better.

He looked at her and his breath was punched from his chest. Frail arms wrapped around her body, shoulders hunched into herself, and her eyes as they stared at the spot Butler had just vacated were dark and bruised. The moment for the Spy was gone. He stepped towards her and she flinched. His mouth went dry and he held his arms up in surrender.

"I will not harm you, child," his voice was carefully smooth. "However, might I suggest you cleanse yourself and acquire more comfortable clothing? I will prepare some tea for your return." He slowly let his arms fall to his sides. She did not look at him when she nodded sharply. With none of the fluidity he had beheld prior, she left for the darkened bowels of the house.

Once the door to what he assumed was the bathroom had shut and locked, he released the breath he had been holding. He was dancing on tenderhooks around her, and he couldn't understand why. He couldn't understand it. Everything he was, every sense he had, focussed so intently on her. There was no room for rational thought, only her.

He moved into the kitchen area, separated from the lounge area only by a tall bar which allowed for more bench space. He rummaged around until he found what he was looking for – a tea pot, some strong-smelling English Breakfast tea leaf, and the kettle. Tea lost its flavour when the water was magically heated, or so he had always held. His hands shook as he lifted the kettle to fill it.

The attraction, this fierce desire to wrap himself around her and protect her from everything, it wasn't a sexual one. That, he had ruled out very quickly within himself. It wasn't even just a need to care for her and fuss over her, it was an all consuming requirement to be _owned_ by her, and to stake his claim over her. Especially claim her above _everyone else_. The elf, Butler, had set every nerve ending screaming, and if he hadn't seen that understanding in his eyes, he would have quite cheerfully torn him limb from limb for being in _his_ witch's presence.

Except that she was his student, and certainly _not_ his witch. Before the other night, the most time they had spent in the same environment had been in the potions laboratory, and that only as impertinent walking encyclopedia and professor. There had certainly been nothing there. At best, one could describe their previous relationship as a mutual dislike. She was an arrogant regurgitator of information. Her essays were the veritable bane of his existence – long winded, overly wordy, and rarely past the information she could acquire through books.

But since that night, since she had roared through the darkest recesses of his mind, since she had _broken_, he could not control himself. The only control was her. Protecting her. Caring for her. _Serving_ her. If she turned those chocolate eyes on him and asked him to destroy the world, Merlin's balls, he would do it. Well, he would try. He could deny her nothing.

The kettle whistled, scattering his thoughts. His hands were steadier as he poured the hot water into the tea pot. He watched for a moment as the shrunken leaves burst colour into the clear liquid, before placing the lid. Two serviceable mugs were acquired from the cupboards beneath the benchtop, and a small container of cream was found in the fridge. He organised everything neatly on the table, where a pot of sugar had appeared. Butler had returned.

Hermione reappeared, now comfortably dressed in an over-sized shirt and pants. Her feet were stuffed into slipper boots, her riot of curls bound atop her head with ties and pins, presenting the bare expanse of her neck. Her eyes brightened when they found the pot of tea, and she started forward rather more eagerly than she had entered.

"Allow me," Severus said, his voice barely more than a purr. Her eyes pierced him as he bowed his head to pour the tea. He lifted the mug to her and caught her eyes. The veil was back. No hint of what she was beneath the skin.

"Thank you," she said, breaking the contact and accepting her mug. She poured in a small amount of cream and heaped sugar. She hugged it to her chest and gazed out to the ocean beyond glass doors. "Susan will be here shortly." He glanced up from pouring his own tea.

"She was ..." he didn't need to finish. She nodded. He had to put the pot down to settle his hands. "She is … is she like you?"

"Yes."

He would not survive being torn in two ways. He didn't understand how he wasn't in shreds already. His body demanded he touch her, smell her, embrace her. His mind would not allow it. She was brittle as fine glasswork and more glorious. To take a step wrong would be disastrous. To put his steps right would lead to the sweet darkness of her embrace. The sweet darkness she couldn't quite contain within her milky skin.

The sweet darkness that was already permeating the cabin.

But he would not survive the need to serve two mistresses.

He felt the change in the air before Susan Bones appeared at the door. The cabin was filled with crepsecule meeting midnight, embracing, each distinct and akin. The girls clutched at one another. There were no tears, no hysterics. Haunted looks and deep understanding were shared. Hermione pressed her mug into Susan's shaking hands.

"Drink," she commanded. Susan obeyed. When she set the mug down, there was no tea left.

Severus leaped at the mug and refilled it, mixing it exactly as he had observed Hermione do so.

"You can't use it, either?" Susan asked. Hermione's face crumpled into sadness and she shook her head. "I don't know what's going on." His witch, _his _witch, took Susan's face in her hands.

"We will find the answers."

"I truly hope so."

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